


Lion

by colberry



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Aoi Isn't Gay Or Anything, Be Careful What You Wish For, Closeted Character, Fractured Fairy Tale, M/M, Ruki is a little shit, Temporarily Unrequited Love, that one where Reita accidentally comes off as a pedophile but i swear he isn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberry/pseuds/colberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Uruha said he'd like to experience the simpler, innocent feeling of childhood again in his now-hectic life, this wasn't what he had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just grant the monster his little wish

It wasn't like it was a particularly hard, gruesome, mind-numbing day.  However, his bones still somehow ached by the end of it.  Uruha let his fingers press into the cold sweat of his lager, blisters sighing in relief.  The bustle of the bar the five of them had stumbled into (with the misinformation that it was a family restaurant, but they had collapsed into the booth anyway because didn't a beer sound _so much fucking better_ than a burger right now?) swam like a fickle, lazy current in their ears.  Slow wafts of idle chat, clinking glasses and distant laughter sliced periodically into their conversation about nothing in particular.    
  
Uruha slid his fingers down the neck of the bottle and closed his eyes.  
  
Reita's voice was somewhere to his left, amused and slightly impish, "So, _you're_ telling me...  that you can tell the _exact_ qualities of a person just by looking at their _shoes_."  
  
Uruha could almost touch the mirth in Reita's baritone, his oldest friend and roommate bumping into his shoulder slightly in silent jest.  There was a huff of impatient breath and suddenly a loud thump on top of the table.  Uruha didn't have to open his eyes to know that Ruki had just plopped his foot on the surface, the soft exclamation from Aoi dictating that his sake was at a close-range risk.  
  
"It's all right here.  Snake skin says I'm adventurous, creative, brash -- maybe a _little_ precocious -- " Kai guffawed, "But the white says I'm an open canvas, waiting and offering to change, but afraid of risk just as much as I thrive off of it."  
  
Reita, clearly past the point of intellectual discussion with the three and a half beers lining his side of the table, drawled, "And the way you wear a size bigger than you need says that you're compensating for something a little north of your feet...?"  
  
Aoi giggled -- Uruha noted that it was indeed not a chuckle with the way the man's tenor voice broke off, and the way he was always a lightweight.    
  
But Ruki seemed to let the comment roll off his pink-blazer clad shoulders as he slid his foot off the table, "Show me yours then."  
  
"I'm not whipping it out."  
  
"C'mon, just show me."  
  
"I'm not comfortable with you ogling it like that."  
  
"Fuck, Reita, just _fucking show me your --_ "  
  
"Guys, are we still talking about the wonderful world of shoes?"  Kai's exasperated question poked in somewhere from the far right.    
  
Ruki must have been rolling his eyes, and pointedly ignored Aoi's excited exclamation of ' _Mine, mine!  What about mine?_ ' "Fine.  I'll just get Uruha to show me."  
  
Uruha's eyes snapped open, realizing that he was being jerked back into this eccentric bundle of nonsense known as his friends and sorta-kinda-colleagues.  "Huh?"  
  
Ruki was looking at him with a wide smile and anticipating eyes, blue contacts shining eerily in the dim lighting of the bar, "Show me your shoes."  
  
Uruha whipped his head to the left, silently asking Reita for confirmation on this inane request.  The older man just shrugged, already nursing a half-empty fourth beer, "Just grant the little monster his wish."  
  
With Aoi leaning in with interest, Kai regarding the scene with an arm slung back over his chair and Reita being no help whatsoever, Uruha crinkled his brow before gingerly lifting a foot to place on the edge of the table.  
  
Ruki immediately dove in, almost knocking over Aoi's drink again which said man, panic-stricken, swiped just in time before a catastrophe met the vocalist's bejeweled blazer.  His eyes honed in on Uruha's shoes with uncanny attention and the guitarist self-consciously curled his toes inside the worn Chuck Taylors.  
  
A minute of absolute silence, save Reita's thirsty gulps, passed over the group before Ruki leaned back in his seat, satisfied, and crossed his arms.    
  
"Just as I suspected."  
  
Uruha quickly pulled his foot off the table, catching the bartender's disapproving glare sheepishly, "What?"  
  
Ruki nodded his head sagely, "A true 'my-pace' guy, what else?"  For a split second, the sloshed Ruki appeared sober, "The grass stains say you're carefree, walking through grass unlike a _normal_ person who would use the sidewalk.  And those frayed shoelaces say you're a guy who keeps the past close to him -- "  
  
"What the fuck does that have to do with his laces?"  
  
Ruki glared at Reita's lackadaisical pondering, "Why else would he keep such ratty shoes?"  
  
Uruha thought he should probably feel offended, but he stared unto his beer instead, listening.  
  
Ruki continued, "You obviously desire _some_ sort of your past.  At least more simplicity or whatever.  Your shoes themselves are simple, practical, something you'd wear on the playground more than you'd wear to work."  
  
The taller man felt Reita brush against his shoulder again, something passing between them that only a fifteen-year history could allow.  He heard Aoi hum thoughtfully while Kai voiced the actual thought, "That actually... sounds about right."  
  
Ruki's sagely countenance clattered to the ground as he grinned haughtily, launching from his chair yet again to point a black-nailed finger to Reita's apathetic figure as he slurred, "Your face?  IN IT!"  
  
Uruha barely heard the scoff from the blond-haired man beside him, too busy turning Ruki's words over and glancing furtively at his shoes.  He watched as the pathetic looking things toed the ground almost guiltily.  Days did seem to be getting harder, in the way that constant work always did begin to drain passion and wear away at the mind.  However, with the recent backlash from disgruntled fans bearing down upon them before their now-infamous single was even released, a considerable amount of gloom had taken root in the studio.    
  
He supposed sometime between working and rehashing the B Melodies and collapsing into the dilapidated cushions of his and Reita's couch, he had been unconsciously longing for the past -- where the world seemed so vast, ripe and carefree.  
  
Now, meetings of management clogged whatever free spirit had been roaming in his soul.  The near-constant whir of laptops echoed in his eardrum from each one of them checking and rechecking blogs -- trying desperately to find a positive reaction to what they were doing, to gauge what had gone wrong.  
  
Uruha picked at a loose thread on his sleeve cuff, the sounds of Ruki's raucous laughter and Aoi's mock-affronted tone warbled as he continued to think.  Looking up slightly and past the fringe of his bangs, watching his bandmates becoming dorks of the highest degree, Uruha felt a stab in his stomach when he realized that it was the first time they were all together, laughing, in over a month.    
  
Uruha wrinkled his brow.  That was just --   
  
"Hey, you feel sick?  You look pale."  
  
Reita's low voice snapped Uruha out of his thoughts.  Turning his head towards the older man, he blinked owlishly.  The bassist only smirked slightly before reaching out a hand to ruffle his friend's auburn hair, "Let's step outside then, okay?  I don't think I want to witness Ruki's strip-tease anyways."    
  
Uruha whipped back around to see that indeed the aureate-haired vocalist was beginning to shed his blazer in what he thought to be a provocative manner.  He only succeeded in elbowing Aoi in the face.  
  
Before he could watch Aoi's temper ignite and Kai's mother-hen wings sprout, Reita was dragging him across the bar to the door.  
  
Once outside, the other man stepped away from Uruha, digging in his pockets for a cigarette.  Uruha found himself almost stumbling backwards as he went to lean against the brick wall.  He tilted his head up and breathed in heavily, the crisp night air painting across his lungs.  Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the now blatant feel of his worn shoes against his feet.  
  
He could hear Reita mumble darkly about losing his lighter, the frantic pats of his hands on his jeans and jacket slowing down once he realized it was truly a lost cause.  A sigh broke the still air and Uruha couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth, "Ruki was right."  
  
"Don't let _him_ know that."  
  
Uruha opened his eyes and stared into Reita's chocolate orbs, "I'm sick of it, Akira."  
  
Reita paused, sensing that this wasn't going to be a lighthearted discussion with jabs at a certain short-statured vocalist's expense.  He still had the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, "What are you saying?"  
  
Uruha could detect the traces of horror in Reita's soft question and knew what the other was thinking, "Not like that.  Just...  Have you ever wanted to just stop for a second?"  
  
Reita regarded him blankly.  Uruha cursed those three-and-then-some beers.  
  
He tried again, "I love what we do.  I live for it.  But lately, with everything going on with the single and whatever, it's hard.  I just want things to be simple again."  
  
Reita stepped closer, hands now in his pockets and a sober glaze to his eyes, "Like when we were kids?"  
  
Uruha nodded, suddenly feeling smaller than usual as he toed the ground, "Weird and slightly creepy to think of ourselves as kids seven years ago.  But yeah.  Like that.  And even before that, I didn't have to worry as much and even though I used to get beat up and stuff, I had you and that's all I needed to feel better."  
  
He let out a breath of laughter, "But now you can't save me from meetings or wonky amps or late nights at the studio second-guessing myself."  Uruha paused before whispering, "You can't save me from other people's high expectations and when I don't meet them..."  
  
Reita took another step, "Why didn't you say you were stressed?  You know we can always take a break from the studio for a day or two..."  
  
Uruha lolled his head to the side, not sure of what he was saying, but knowing he could hear his heart pulsating in his ears, "It's not that.  I just... I just want to not _care_ whether or not I'll mess up, blow our 'image', get everything thrown back in my face."  
  
He looked up at the sky, bright stars catching his eyes, "It'd be nice to have that innocence of childhood again."  
  
Reita watched Uruha watch the stars.  Slowly, the taller man closed his eyes and began to sag against the wall.  Reita immediately went to his side, hefting up the rag-doll body and sighing.  _Shit.  I should've been making sure he wasn't getting too wasted tonight.  Stupid half-off Tuesdays..._  
  
Slinging the younger man's limp arm around his shoulders, Reita silently led them back home.  
  
Up in the sky, the stars winked.  
  
  
&&  
  
  
The strip-tease didn't go as well as he'd hoped.  Rather than applause, he ended up with stained pants, 45000 yen in damage fees and a twisted ankle.  Ruki pouted in the backseat of the cab he was sharing with Aoi, who had sobered up mighty quick when the shot glass Ruki had been using as a microphone slipped from his hand and towards his face.  
  
Ruki was currently face-planted into his shoulder.  The golden locks almost looked like a fallen sun against Aoi's black shirt.  The liquor in his stomach, and perhaps the merciless thoughts that had been plaguing him for months, was making him think that maybe, if he tried really hard, he could be his sky.  Aoi shook his head quickly, dismissing the rind of cheese he had just spewed from his short-circuited brain with a scoff.  Besides, it was foolish to think that Ruki -- flamboyant, brash, avant-garde, sensitive, intellectual, semi-broken -- would let someone like Aoi -- bohemian, foolhardy, arrogant, serious, temperamental -- cradle his head against their chest.  
  
Aoi pressed his forehead against the cabbie window.  Tokyo lights were blurring outside and Ruki's soft giggles and slurred verbs were making bruises against his heart.  He wasn't sure when this petulant yearning started.  Maybe it spawned somewhere between an always-there affection and the accidental brush of the vocalist's hand against his thigh as he reached over to experimentally wiggle his guitar's whammy some months ago.  Or maybe from the playful glances upon the stage, or from somewhere deep inside his internal struggle with his own sexuality.  While he felt insecure, unsure, and hid from his bandmate's concerned pondering, there was Ruki -- unafraid to don gilded slacks for a radio interview.    
  
The shorter man's breaths were close to his ear suddenly, softly blowing air against his lobe, causing Aoi to twitch violently.  
  
"Ruki!"  
  
Ruki cracked up, holding his stomach and tilting his head back, gleeful tears starting to slip down his cheeks -- apparently 'over' the fact that his salmon designer blazer was effectively ruined by Kai's red wine.  Aoi scowled, but watched Ruki's smile.  So uninhibited.  It was rare to spot these days, what with the mounting work, rising expectations from fans, and slander upon slander in online blogs defacing what they do.  
  
Aoi knew Ruki had always taken it the hardest.  
  
"You -- Your face!"  
  
Ruki continued to laugh and Aoi continued to marvel at his grin and glee-splattered eyes.  
  
The taxi finally pulled up to Ruki's apartment.  Aoi would have let the vocalist get out and trek up to his home by himself, if not for the way Ruki practically fell against the car door and took two minutes to get the handle open.  
  
"Let me walk you up.  I'll catch another cab."  
  
"I will have you _know_ that...  I can handle myself _perfectively_.  You... fucking ragamuffin."  
  
Aoi rolled his eyes and pushed Ruki out of the cab.  
  
They walked as best they could to the door.  The night air was crisp and Aoi thought he could see his breath mingle with Ruki's as the other man stumbled into him on his threshold.  The keys were jangling in his grip, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he tried to grasp the right one, "What are all these _keys_ for?"  
  
"To get in places?"  
  
"Fuck that.  Kick the door down."  
  
"Yeah, I'll get right on that."  
  
A squeal of victory left Ruki's mouth as he found his apartment key and proceeded to shakily direct it into the keyhole.  Maybe it was the vodka he had chugged an hour before, maybe it was the melting of his mind and the burning secret he had stowed away deep inside of him surfacing, but in that moment of standing under Ruki's porch light, watching how the yellow glow hit his cheekbones with the moon hidden by surly clouds -- Aoi swore this perfect, degenerate mess beside him was beautiful.  
  
Ruki was halfway in the door when Aoi couldn't help himself, "I think I...  Let me kiss you."  
  
There was a moment of definitive stillness.  Ruki's eyes lost their glaze, a serious expression replacing the giddy pinkness of his cheeks.  Somewhere, Aoi could hear the keys keep jingling, Ruki's hand probably shaking.  He licked his dry lips and swallowed hard.  
  
Ruki smiled then, the bitter quirk of his lips making his face wonderfully cynical, "Should have asked me when I was younger, Aoi-chan.  I might have said yes."  
  
The door shut.  
  
Aoi let out the breath in his lungs and brought a hand to his mouth.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
Up in the sky, the stars blinked.  
  
  
&&&  
  
  
It wasn't the feeling of being completely and utterly hungover that startled him awake in a cold sweat.  It wasn't the cotton in his mouth or the remnants of a grotesque nightmare clinging to his conscious or the urgent need to puke.  Although _that_ would probably come later.  What shot Reita out of bed, tangled his ankles in his sheets and catapulted him over the edge was a bloodcurdling scream.  
  
Utterly frazzled, navy sheets constricting his torso as he tried to clamor back up, the bassist caught the glare of his alarm clock.  _7:26 am_.  
  
He didn't have time to ponder as to why it was _so fucking early_ , he was too busy having his head ring and thoughts race along the question of whether he had locked the door last night, whether he still remembered those kendo moves, whether an intruder was really that fucking _insane_ for barging in at broad daylight.  His senses were becoming overloaded with adrenaline; the scream was reaching into his bones and clearing the fog in his brain.  Adorned in only a wife-beater and boxers, Reita finally managed to scramble out of his bed-entrapment and careen down the narrow hallway.  
  
His head was swimming slightly, disorientation piercing his eyes.  Nothing was making sense.  Why was there screaming?  Why did it sound foreign, yet completely familiar?  He blinked.  _What?  Why was it coming from Uruha's...?_  
  
Reita didn't pause, didn't stop to think of the implications as he practically threw Uruha's bedroom door off its hinges.  
  
And then everything came into bright focus.  
  
The world slightly stuttered.  Reita froze in the doorway as the screams cut off and he was pinned by large, frightened eyes.    
  
Because this...  This was so utterly impossible.  
  
The bedraggled child occupying Uruha's bed hiccuped, tears streaming down his face, as Reita stood there gaping.  His small frame was drowned in sheets, long black hair sticking to his cheeks against those clear rivulets, lips parted in muted horror.  
  
 _What.  The fuck._  
  
Reita's mind must've still been drunk.  What the hell was this _kid_ doing in Uruha's bed and where the hell was the mellow-minded guitarist?  His eyes hurriedly scanned the quaint room as he tried to remember last night.  Uruha passing out at the bar, carrying his sorry-ass up four flights of stairs to their apartment, depositing him into his bed.  That was it.  No picking up stray orphans on the side of the road...  
  
A small whimper pulled his attention away from the blurry details to once again hone in on the child.  He looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and the tug of familiarity almost brought him to his knees.  
  
The bowed lips.  The innocent, doe eyes.  The faint freckle on his lower jaw.  
  
Reita slowly stepped forward, tentative and knowing he was insane for even asking, "Uruha?"  
  
The child immediately scooted back into the headboard, leaning away as far as he could from the man's presence.  His arms were rigid as he held onto the bedspread with all his might.  Caramel eyes widened in blind fear as Reita took another step.  He tried to fuse his body into the headboard behind him, bit his lip and cried out:  
  
" _W-Where am I?!_ " _  
_  
Reita froze in mid-step, the voice of years past melting through his memories.  He knew for sure then.  
  
 _Oh, fuck.  I must look like a fucking kidnapper._  
  
Quickly realizing the dire and extremely suspicious situation at hand, Reita lifted his hands in peace, "It's okay.  Don't be scared, okay?"  
  
The boy only had more tears sliding down his distraught face.  When he saw that Reita wasn't backing up, leaving or turning into his mother, he screwed his eyes shut and whispered, "You're scary."  
  
The blond-haired bassist slid a hand down his face in exasperation, his fingers briefly touching the noseband he was too lazy to pull off last night.  Oh.  Seeing a nose-less captor might be a little traumatic...  
  
Reita slowly, slowly stepped closer and bent his back in an effort to minimize his towering figure, "No I'm not.  I promise you're okay, Uruha."  
  
The young boy opened his eyes and trembled, "I'm not Uruha!  I don't know who that is, just take me home!  I want 'kira!"  
  
Reita could almost hear his heart tear and found himself kneeling next to the quivering child, watching his fingers shake and breaths catch in his throat.  He lowered his voice, whispered gently, "Kouyou, I _am_ Akira."  
  
Kouyou shook his head vigorously, backing away from the edge of the bed, "No, no, no!  You're not 'kira!  You're not my 'kira -- you're a big, scary man!"  
  
Reita almost reached out to touch Kouyou's shoulder, the tears in the boy's throat reminding him of all those years the other was bullied and how he had muffled his sobs against his shoulder.  It hurt.  Despite the total _'what the fu--'_ of the situation, despite it making zero sense whatsoever -- Reita felt compelled to prove the boy wrong.  
  
He sat his chin on the edge of the bed, fingers grasping at the sheets, "I _am_ him, Kouyou.  I'm just bigger, that's all.  Don't you remember when we played soccer at that old field by the railroad tracks?  And when we would get ice cream afterwards and I'd always have to share 'cause _somebody_ forgot their money?"  
  
A smile crept into his voice.  Kouyou, who had curled into himself and faced away to the wall, tilted his head towards the man behind him.  Reita leaned forward a bit, ignoring the total insanity he was wading through, and softly spoke, "I helped you with math and you helped me with kanji.  Even though you were wrong most of the time anyway...  And when we'd stay out too late, I'd walk you home and explain to your mom it was my fault,"  He chuckled despite himself, "Even though _you_ were the one who whined that we _had_ to stay out later or we'd miss shooting stars."  
  
Kouyou met his eyes in awed silence even though his body was still angled away from the older man.  Reita lost his smile, regarding the salt-marks staining the boy's innocent face, "And I tried to keep you safe from those stupid guys who made fun of you.  But when I couldn't, and when it was really bad, I'd let you lean against my shoulder...  And I'd tell you that you were safe with me, that you weren't alone."  
  
A silence enveloped the two.  A headache was beginning to pound behind his eyes, last night's festivities catching up with him.  But he kept his gaze steady with those caramel irises.  This was his friend.  His best friend.  
  
He whispered, "You're still safe with me."  
  
Kouyou wrinkled his brow, the same puzzled expression that his older self would often make when faced with a complex guitar phrase or a particularly difficult game level.  Reita almost shook his head at the haunting similarity.  
  
It was still for a moment before Kouyou whispered back in obvious disbelief, "Akira?"  
  
Reita gave the boy a lopsided smile, the same that used to grace his boyish face all those years ago.  
  
Tears welled up in Kouyou's ducts (he had always been a weepy child), unable to help himself as he suddenly threw himself at his friend.  He grasped at the broad shoulders and pressed his face into the hard chest.  It was weird and different and totally impossible.  But Kouyou _knew_.  He knew and he raised his head and furrowed his eyebrows at his friend, pouting slightly, "You're old."  
  
Reita smirked, "You're short."  
  
  
&&  
  
  
The sweet heaven of Ayumi Hamasaki's "Glitter" woke up Aoi that morning.  Bleary eyes glaring at the phone on his nightstand, he contemplated whether to just 'accidentally' turn it off and blame his network for the missed call.  He didn't want to wake up.  Waking up meant having to remember what he said to Ruki.  Waking up meant that he'd have to actually _talk_ to Ruki again.  
  
He lay absolutely still, wondering if his phone would get the hint.  No such luck as Ayumi kept on busting a lung -- fuck, he must have been hammered not to notice Reita messing with his phone -- and Aoi groaned as he gave in.  
  
Hand slapping atop the phone, he didn't spare the caller ID a glance and merely greeted cheerfully, "What."  
  
 _"This had better be a fucking joke."_


	2. Little problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know that I’m a babysitter to you four monsters, but this is stretching it a tad."

_Hand slapping atop the phone, he didn't spare the caller ID a glance and merely greeted cheerfully, "What."  
  
"This had better be a fucking joke."  
  
  
_Oh _fuck_.  Aoi gripped the phone tighter, knuckles an inconceivable white, and felt his stomach sink to his toes.  It was slightly garbled by static, but the telltale huff of Ruki's annoyed baritone still pierced through the receiver.  Aoi felt himself gape, mouth suddenly full of cotton and sheets sticking uncomfortably to his legs.  _He must have woken up and remembered._   Shit, shit, shit.  Aoi quickly sat up, free hand burying anxiously in his tangled hair.    
  
Damage control time.  "W-what are you talking about?"  
  
Temporary amnesia with a sprinkle of innocence -- his best playing card.  Too bad it was _slightly_ discredited by his stutter.  The elder man's mind raced; Ruki was probably pissed, degraded, looking for some Mie-born blood to shed.  Aoi fisted his hand tighter in his raven locks -- it was over.  The band was _over_.  The press was going to be all over this:  
  
 _\-- and the reason behind the unfortunate break-up of the GazettE was solely the fault of Shiroyama Yuu -- in-the-closet rhythm guitarist who just couldn't keep it in his pants --_  
  
A faint, strangled noise left Aoi's lips.  No _way_ was he going to be outed on national tele--  
  
 _"I'm **talking** about me being fucking kidnapped over here!"_  
  
\-- wait a second.  Aoi loosened his death-grip from his hair, wincing slightly as the roots ached, and furrowed his brow, "What?"  
  
There was a second of silence on the other end and Aoi unconsciously leaned forward and pressed the phone closer to his ear.  He could hear the slight catches of breath from the younger man.  A considerably softer voice hesitantly spoke up, _"You mean... you guys didn't set me up?"_  
  
Aoi could feel himself gaining more wrinkles by the second from how deeply his eyebrows were knitted, "Ruki, what are you talking about?"  
  
The vocalist didn't seem to hear him, _"Oh fuck, what the hell is going on?  This-this isn't my apartment and ... what the **fuck** is this dog doing here?"_  
  
Aoi blinked as he heard a scuffle occur on the other end of the phone -- Ruki's admonishing _shoo's_ and Koron's infamous yapping.  A weird, sinking feeling was beginning to clutch at his chest as he slowly began to untangle himself from the constricting sheets.  He could still hear Koron's pitiful whining and a door firmly shut -- must have shoved the poor thing into the bathroom -- as he switched the phone into his dominant hand.  
  
"That's Koron-chan, Ruki..."  
  
 _"So you **do** have something to do with this!"_   The younger man's voice held a slight growl, but seemed more desperately hopeful than malicious.    
  
Pushing his panic-stricken feelings of being harpooned by his bandmates for making a failed pass at their youngest member, Aoi slowly shook his head, "I have nothing to do with anything.  That's Koron.  Your dog.  In your apartment -- "  
  
 _" -- No, this isn't my apartment.  I've never even **been** to this side of the city.  I can't even remember what happened last night, but I woke up and I was here and you're acting like it's fucking **normal** to just wind up in a stranger's apartment!  I could be killed when this guy gets back!"_  
  
Aoi held the phone slightly away from his pulsing ear, the increasingly high-pitched panic of Ruki’s usually melodious baritone rushing out like word-vomit. The guitarist’s head was already starting to pound and he could feel the birth of a headache against his temples, but the vague ‘off’ tone to Ruki’s mannerisms was unsettling him too much to disregard.   
  
He stood up from his bed, ignoring the stray piece of sheet music on the floor that stuck to his foot, and determinedly walked to his closet to quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a random floral shirt, "Just stay where you are okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes."  
  
 _"But how do you know where – "_  
  
Aoi snapped the phone shut and grabbed his keys. The feeling in his chest was spreading to his fingertips – an uneasy flutter that left a cold chill in its wake. Shrugging it off as best he could, Aoi reached for the doorknob.   
  
He paused and took a split second to sigh in relief.  
  
 _At least he doesn't remember last night._  
  
  
&&  
  
  
Within five minutes, it was awkward.  
  
At least for Reita. Currently, he was scurrying around the kitchen, swinging open cabinets and poking his head in the fridge numerous times despite already knowing that the contraption held precisely five eggs, a carton of plum juice crap Uruha had bought last week, a bowl of withering grapes and a box of baking soda. His socked feet padded across the linoleum floor with dizzying haste.   
  
"Pan, pan – I need a pan…"  He chanced a glance at the young boy who was sitting contentedly at the table, dressed in pinned boxers and a ratty shirt reaching to his thighs that declared SEX PISTOLS (which was a crappy idea as the curious youngster wasted no time asking Reita what the words meant to which the frazzled bassist replied something along the lines of: _"Well, um, yeah so there’s hoses and there’s gardens and when it’s time to plant flowers, the hose will… Do you want breakfast?"_ ), thin legs swinging back and forth.   
  
Kouyou caught his eye and perked up, lifting an arm to point helpfully towards the stove. Reita whirled around. A pan sat idle on the burner.  
  
"Oh… I have a pan."  
  
Kouyou nodded firmly and smiled with a hint of shyness, proud to have helped. Reita watched his pint-sized friend’s small grin in a daze, not quite believing what he was seeing at his kitchen table. Not quite believing he was playing _house_ with a seven-year-old former-guitarist on a random fucking Thursday at 8:30 in the morning.   
  
Kouyou’s smile slowly faded when he noticed the elder staring at him. Averting his eyes, he lifted a hand to fiddle with the fork the blond-haired man had placed in front of him earlier in a frenzied blur. A light blush dusted his plump cheeks as he poked his fingers on the tines.  
  
Reita snapped out of his glossed over gaze, realizing he was getting weird and awkward again. Shaking his head, he wondered when that ‘creepy old man’ feeling would wear off. He opened the fridge for the eighth time, "Scrambled?"  
  
He heard a soft "please" behind him as he grabbed three eggs.   
  
He obviously had to call someone. This wasn’t one of those "oh crap, Uruha got the stomach flu so we can’t go to practice" moments he periodically relayed to an exasperated Kai. It was more of an "oh crap, Uruha is a fucking seven-year-old" moment and he wasn’t sure if that was in Kai’s area of expertise.   
  
The sound of sizzling eggs and Kouyou’s legs whooshing back and forth beneath his chair filled the stagnant space of the kitchen.  
  
Reita furrowed his brow, poking at the omelet with a dilapidated spatula. Well, it didn’t matter – he _had_ to tell Kai. This was a kinda-sorta serious situation and they kinda-sorta had a tour coming up in three weeks. And then there was the matter of how this even _happened_ in the first place and how to fix it – _if_ they could fix it… A soft growl of frustration escaped his lips as he flipped his somewhat edible creation over.   
  
"Are you okay, ‘kira?"  
  
Kouyou’s quiet voice broke him out of his troubled thoughts; Reita turned around to see the boy’s concerned eyes and frown, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip in worry. His hands were clasped around his fork, that Reita vaguely remembered nearly throwing at the poor kid in his tornado of freak out, and his legs had stopped swinging.   
  
Reita briefly turned back around to slide the omelet onto a plate, closing his eyes and breathing in deep to calm his jumping nerves, before letting a smile grace his face as he set the plate in front of a wary Kouyou. He made his own dish quickly and sat down across from the boy, chair scraping loudly in the silence that had fell upon them. Reita grimaced a fraction before finally shaking his head, "Yeah, I’m good."  
 _  
You are so the opposite of good right now, you liar. You’re fucking freaked out, that’s what you are –_  
  
Kouyou furrowed his brow, poking absently at his omelet, "You look scared."  
  
Reita’s eyes widened, forgetting how perceptive Uruha had been back then – he briefly wondered if he still possessed that uncanny sixth sense and merely decided to hide it in the form of acute obliviousness. The bassist watched as Kouyou refused to touch his food, apparently too worried over Reita’s well-being, so he puffed out his chest haughtily and proclaimed with a raised fist:  
  
" _Scared?_ No way! I’m Reita! World’s number one fearless man!"  Kouyou looked unconvinced and a little confused.   
  
"But aren’t you Akira?"  
  
Reita dropped his fist and scratched the back of his head instead, ego efficiently deflated, "Ah, well I – "  
  
Kouyou suddenly leaned in with a bright smile, food forgotten and his past jubilant self peeking through, "Is it ‘cause you’re a superhero now?"  
  
Reita blinked and then laughed, resisting the tantalizing urge to ruffle the boy’s locks and pierced his omelet with a fork, elbow grounding into the table, "Something like that."  
  
The younger seemed satisfied at that answer, a renewed spark in his eyes and his bowed lips curved in delight at _his Akira_ saving the world. Because he had always saved Kouyou’s before, so it was only fair…  
  
Despite the adorable scene of his best friend squirming with joy at the prospect that _Reita_ was somebody who slew the bad guys, the bassist felt his smile falter a tad when he remembered that this wasn’t supposed to become _normal_. He needed to figure out what happened, why – _how_. Reita swirled his fork in the loose yolk that seeped across his plate. Sneaking a glance at Kouyou, it didn’t seem like the boy minded the might-as-well-have-just-cracked-the-egg-r

ight-on-your-plate omelet. He was dutifully swishing it around and taking tiny bites.

Reita put his free hand to his temple, massaging the aching spot as he thought of the endless possibilities as to what was going on. Maybe ‘Uruha’ was still in there somewhere… Kinda like amnesia, but in a really, really weird way that Reita wasn’t sure even he – master of bullshit and all things fantastical – could back-up. He looked up from his egg again to ask, "What do you remember from yesterday?"

Kouyou hummed thoughtfully, legs starting to kick back and forth again. Reita was beginning to think it was a sign of the boy being comfortable. "We had soccer practice, but you weren’t there ‘cause you were sick," Kouyou paused to beam at him, "I’m happy you’re feeling better."

Pushing a soggy piece of egg over, he continued contentedly, "After soccer, me and my mom went to the shrines and I didn’t really want to go because it’s too quiet there. But then when we got home, she made me that thing called spa-ghetti and I wanted to bring some to you, but mom told me ‘no’ because you were all germy and diseased and I might die if I got too close."  Kouyou whispered the last part ominously before leaning back into his chair with a cheeky smile.

Reita let out a breath of laughter, inwardly slapping a head to his forehead. _What did you think he was going to say? “We hit the bar last night and got wasted, don’t you remember?”_

Somehow, the severity of the situation just started to dig its claws into his chest. One minute he was laughing with the child version of his best friend over crappy omelets, the next his bones were frozen as his heart began to constrict. What was he thinking? Treating this rascal to breakfast when the fact was that _he wasn’t supposed to even be here_. He was supposed to be twenty-eight. He was supposed to remember everything – what they had dreamed for and worked for and accomplished _together_.

_Fuck._

All at once, Reita leaped from his chair – the decrepit thing scraping harshly against the linoleum once more before crashing to the floor. The stark sound in what used to be a peaceful atmosphere startled Kouyou, making him clang his fork against his plate. The boy saw the severe look in Reita’s gaze and mistook it as a glare, “I’m-I’m sorry, ‘kira. I didn’t mean to hit it…”

Reita’s eyes softened, but his head was already spinning with plans and to-do’s and what’s-next’s. “It’s not your fault. I’m not angry.”

Kouyou merely nodded, still rattled by the crash, and only had time to blink once before Reita was beckoning him with a hurried hand, “C’mon, we need to get you dressed if we’re going out.”

The boy jumped off his chair with wide eyes, curiosity gleaming in his steps as he followed Reita’s quick descent into the hallway. The man stopped abruptly outside a door, causing Kouyou to bump into him slightly as he followed close behind. Seeming to come to a decision with a nod of his head, Reita hastily went into the room that began this morning.

Kouyou took the opportunity to glance around the space, not having had a chance before, and gazed at the cream colored walls, the numerous picture frames, the collection of gleaming things on the dresser. His bare toes felt cold on the hardwood floors; he wiggled them as he waited for Reita to reemerge from the depths of a messy-looking closet. He was tempted to go near those shiny things, touch them and hold them close to his chest, but was interrupted by an exclamation from the closet.

He turned to see Reita holding up a pair of maroon capris, goofy grin stretching across his face at his find. The blond-haired man motioned for Kouyou to sit on the bed – which he did with an enthusiastic flop – and proceeded to help him into the folds of fabric leg by leg.

Reita mumbled under his breath with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t even know _why_ you have these…”

If Kouyou heard, he didn’t say anything – the man with the noseband was acting weird and _looking_ weird anyways.

But then again, Akira had always been weird.

The capris were long enough to be pants on Kouyou’s small frame and Reita had to pin the pesky extra cloth together. Grabbing a cream long-sleeved shirt that he had placed next to himself, the bassist pulled it over the boy’s head as the latter eagerly raised his arms. Kouyou giggled as his hair burst into a static fluff once released from the woolly prison and Reita smirked. He stepped back to examine his handy work. The former guitarist looked like a poster-child for Incompetent Parenting. Perfect.

“It wasn’t _me_ who picked out that maroon atrocity in the first place… Okay! Let’s get going. We’re gonna go visit Kai, alright?”

Kouyou hopped off the bed, stumbling slightly on the swimming pant cuffs and made to follow Reita. He took a last glance at the dresser, yearning to poke just one shiny thing. But the pull to tag alongside his best friend – who _always_ shared his juice boxes with him, made him feel warm and _always, always_ made sure there were never any olives in his food – was stronger.

Once in the kitchen, Reita grabbed his keys off the counter and turned to find Kouyou staring at him with an awed look in his gaze. “You can _drive_ , ‘kira?”

Reita chuckled, opening the door for them to step outside, “Is it that shocking?”

Kouyou pouted, looking at Reita skeptically as the older man swung open the passenger door of the Cadillac and said in an eerily mature tone, “Well, you’re pretty clumsy, Uechan…”

Reita had the gall to look affronted, turning the key in the ignition and letting the purr of the car vibrate against their spines. Kouyou was all wide eyes and eager hands once he was strapped in, stroking the leather interior and glancing around at all the different buttons. Reita noticed how he kept his hands mostly to himself and the seat though – never daring to touch more than was necessary in case he upset his friend. As they waited for the car to warm up, their breaths billowing in front of them, Reita caught Kouyou’s curious glance at the mountain of CDs between them. He saw the boy’s fingers twitch at the sight of the brightly colored, intricate cover designs.

“You know you can look at them, Kou.”

The nickname from years ago slid into his speech too easily.

Kouyou whipped his head up, “Really?”

The pure, innocent question took Reita by surprise, nodding his consent dumbly as he started to pull out of the complex parking lot. His stomach was still a knot of nerves, but with every peek he stole at Kouyou from the corner of his eye, watching the boy enthusiastically study the covers of each CD, his breathing became a little easier.

The ride was pleasant and quiet – Kouyou too enveloped with tracing the patterns of the CDs (some of which, Reita noted, that were their own) to chatter idly. Then again, Uruha had always been a hushed child who was too easily pleased with simple things.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Kai. The whole thing was ludicrous and Reita’s reputation as the jokester of the band wasn’t going to help his case in convincing the drummer that the willowy being of Uruha had been shrunk down into a pint-size, amnesiac child. It sounded something out of that movie he had watched with Ruki two Saturdays ago – body snatchers, parallel universes and all that swank – rather than something out of random happenstance in their apartment.

As Reita sat contemplating, he began to notice Kouyou still, the CDs put neatly back into their places with care. He swiveled his head over and saw the boy had his eyes trained on his lap as he bit his bowed lip absently. Before Reita could even begin to ponder the suddenly solemn behavior, the raven-haired child spoke up quietly, “Is Kai-san nice?”

For all of his enthusiasm and compliance, Kouyou was obviously more anxious about the out-of-place situation than he let on. To wake up in a world where your best friend was suddenly an adult who towered over you, who _drove_ – it had to be unsettling. And Reita knew that it was around this time in Kouyou’s life that the mean taunts and pushes of older boys had begun to occur. He had a right to be nervous of this ‘unknown’ Kai-san – another chance for a stranger to be hurtful. Reita could feel his heart pierce with empathy and reached over to ruffle Kouyou’s hair and give him a smile.

“He’s the best. I promise.”

 

&&

 

Had Ruki’s apartment always looked this daunting and creepy? Aoi tried to swallow the lump in his throat and refused to think about how his stomach seemed to be somewhere out in space. This could all be a cleverly devised trap – luring Aoi to his apartment to murder him for even trying to start something and then selling his organs on the black market.  It was possible.  Ruki _knew_ weird shit.

Aoi winced with a grimace and subconsciously put a hand over his stomach as he stood upon the bedazzled welcome mat outside Ruki’s door. Maybe not a “welcome” mat per se – more like it proclaimed “ALL HAIL” in glitter. The shiny specks that rubbed off onto his black shoes would be stuck there for hours. He was going to have a hard time explaining to Reita that no, he wasn’t mugged by fairies and _yes_ , he could totally win in a fight against one.

Shaking his head at the gargle of thoughts produced by his nerves, the guitarist sighed heavily, knowing his fate was sealed either way, and knocked twice on the emerald-painted door.

He wasn’t expecting it to fly open a millisecond later, almost whamming him in the face if he didn’t swing his head back quick enough. Unfortunately, the glitter-mat proved to be a poor source of friction and he proved to be a bigger source of momentum, as he momentarily slid on the mess of silver, red and black. He absently noted how this could have been part of the plan to slaughter him; making him slip and brain himself on the gleaming floor tiles. Ruki’s hands would be clean. It’d be the perfect crime.

Muttering a curse at how the silver sparkles now spread to the bottom fringes of his pants, Aoi glared at the mat before raising his head cautiously to greet the vocalist.

Prepared for a brazen – and perhaps slightly disgruntled – Ruki with his aureate locks and blue contacts, he instead saw a hesitant – and perhaps slightly fearful – _someone_ with raven hair and a stark blond streak in his bangs clinging to the door frame in shock.

Wait a minute.

Aoi could feel himself gaping, words frozen on his lips, and he could see that this Ruki was starting to stare in disbelief as well. Maybe slightly shorter, the vocalist seemed to be an exact echo of seven years ago – his face was a tad more rounded with youth, features somehow more sharper and the jaded glint to his eyes mostly faded (just beginning). Aoi blinked. And then again. Nope, still there and still looking like they were meeting up to record for Cockayne Soup…

He felt his eyes tear themselves away from those endless chocolate irises to stare at the quivering hand upon the door frame. Those fingers he had seen grasping a cigarette, pointing at a guitar phrase, hiding a smile – seemed so thin, dainty, fragile. They weren’t yet worn from tobacco paper and pens and microphones. The hand tightened its grip on the wood.

“A-Aoi-san?”

_Aoi-san._

He hadn’t been called that in years.

The slightly guarded, soft voice fell from those young lips and Aoi met his eyes again.

A hard swallow, a crinkling brow, “Where’s your lip ring, old man?”

Aoi felt his face fall – so not _everything_ had changed.

He watched this younger version of Ruki raise a brow at his floral shirt, intense eyes scanning over his every feature.  He studied the older man’s faint laugh lines, his longer hair, his lighter aura. And when he met Aoi’s eyes again, he seemed to find something there and his expression softened to something the guitarist couldn’t quite catch.

The look was gone in a split moment and Aoi tried to push his own ponderings of it to the back of his mind, blurting out instead, “How old are you?”

It was a stupid question. Why would Ruki be any age other than twenty-seven? That new facial-mask-crème-solution-whatever he just prattled on and _on_ about to Aoi two days ago could have just been… _really_ working.

He almost took it back, almost told Ruki to forget what he said and that he was just brain-dead from last night when the younger man furrowed his brow and replied hesitantly, “Twenty.  I should be asking _you_ that question…”

Ruki stared pointedly at where Aoi’s piercing used to hug his lip.

It was still for another minute – noir irises meeting sepia – until Ruki suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair in panic.

“Fuck, I go to bed last night all fine and dandy in my apartment and then I open my eyes and I’m _here_ – some ritzy side of the city that I haven’t even _dreamed_ of going to! And then this fucking dog starts yapping at me and I slip on the stupid fucking marble tiles – who has marble tiles anyway? Isn’t tatami _normal_? So I’ve got a mutt in the closet, a bruise on my hip and _no fucking clue_ what’s going on! And now _you’re_ all different too!”

Aoi absently listened to Ruki’s anxious babbling, watching how the younger’s face was so animate – so different from his current self’s more stoic countenance. He wondered minutely if he should tell the now black-haired-blond-streaked vocalist that he age-regressed, that _he_ was the one who was different. However, Aoi was too absorbed with being awed by the past breathing right in front of him to even utter a word.

Ruki paused in his rant and began to whisper ominously, “Wait. Wait a second. What if this is some parallel universe? One where you’re old and I have a dog and – shit, I saw this in a movie with Reita once. …Oh, _fuck_. Does Reita even exist here?!”

Aoi rolled his eyes despite the uneasy feeling in his chest and muttered, “I forgot how melodramatic you used to be…”

This made Ruki stop chattering, stop pulling at his hair, and turn to stare at Aoi. The look of surprise gracing his wide eyes slowly ebbed to fear – fear of this unknown, fear of what was happening, fear of Aoi himself (who didn’t look like “himself”). A shiver passed through his small frame before he braced a hand against the door frame once again.

He whispered, “What-what do you mean by that?”

It was too early for this, Aoi concluded. The sun was piercing through the window behind him, warming his back and making his head ache. Last night he was drunkenly professing his love for this man, last night he was brushed off with flippant ease – last night everything collapsed, but was still the same in the way Fate toyed with lives. But now… It was too surreal.

Those wide eyes were too familiar, but at the same time so foreign. How many times had he stared into those sepia irises – always hidden by silver, blue, gold contacts? But now they were raw and young and frighteningly confused. And yet something lurked within them, something warmer that didn’t exist here in the present.

Aoi found himself whispering back, “Why did you call _me_?”

Because it was as weird as anything else in this royally _what-the-fuck_ scenario. He and Ruki weren’t so close back then. The vocalist and the dynamic guitar-bass duo were more tightly knit and together – why hadn’t he called _them_ in the flurry of fright and disorientation?

Ruki didn’t seem to think it was weird, however, as he simply said, “You’re the oldest and you’d never lie to me about stupid pranks. Reita and Uruha would just laugh. And I don’t know Kai that well yet.”

Aoi’s shoulders almost slumped – of course. He was big brother after all.

Ruki didn’t give the elder time to reflect and internally groan, suddenly urgent, “Aoi-san, what’s going on? Why… Why do you… Why are you like this?”

The small hand gestured up and down before subconsciously traveling to his own lip, rubbing the flesh in thought before continuing, “You’re not the same. You’re different – besides the lip ring and the hair and whatever.”

And then Aoi’s hands finally started to shake, the Twilight Zone feel of this morning finally clawing at his throat, and he spoke quietly, “That’s because it’s 2010.”

Ruki stopped talking and just stared.

Aoi bit his lip, right in the spot his piercing used to poke through, “I look older because I am. We all are.”

The vocalist started to lean heavily against the wood, eyes impossibly wide.

“This is your apartment. Your dog. Your success.”

Ruki touched a hand to his forehead. He began to shake his head slowly.

Aoi began to feel his own fear start to chill his bones and strangle his heart.

“You’re not supposed to be twenty. You haven’t been twenty for seven years.”

“No, no. We… We’re releasing Madara in a month and we’re touring with Kra and BIS in September. I live on the opposite side of the city. You have a lip ring. You wear stupid shit like fur coats and reindeer sweaters. You treat us and protect us and you have a fucking anger problem. You’re not…like this.”

Aoi stepped closer, “We did all that, Ruki. But you live here now and I took my lip ring out two years ago. And I’ve changed; I got older and I realized my problems and I fixed them. I know this is hard to believe, but you need to trust me.”

Ruki shrank back slightly as he saw Aoi move closer. This man wasn’t the Aoi he knew – his Aoi was flippant and brusque and tense. This Aoi was lighter somehow, had lips that seemed to smile more than scowl. It wasn’t the same. He may have been ‘big brother’ to them all, but he was a force that was hot to the touch and screamed to keep your distance lest you incinerate. This Aoi seemed to crave contact as he stepped closer. Ruki could see the same fear lingering in the elder’s eyes – eyes that were more chocolate than noir now.

Aoi watched Ruki study him and sighed heavily, “Do you trust me?”

Ruki met his gaze for a second before averting his eyes to the elder’s shoes, softly admitting, “I’ve always trusted you, Aoi-san.”

The guitarist felt a broad smile of victory grace his lips, restraining himself from fist-pumping the air with triumph.

“ – Even if you’re an old man now.”

Brat.

 

&&

 

Kai rose an eyebrow as he heard his doorbell ring. Sneaking a glance at his clock while he walked to the door – 8:45AM – he was sure that the whole world would still be sleeping until noon. And if he included his lovely bandmates in that ‘world’, then the Land of Nod would be occupied until _at least_ two in the afternoon. His stomach was already unsettled with worry as he unlocked the door and peeked through.

If he was expecting anything, it would have been maybe Ruki with last-minute lyrics or their manager with last-minute preparations for the studio.

A stricken-looking Reita with a child in tow who was half-hidden behind him was way, way down on his expectations list.

Noting the pleading look glazing the bassist’s eyes, Kai immediately came to a conclusion.

“I know that I’m a babysitter to you four monsters, but this is stretching it a tad.”

Before Reita could vehemently shake his head ‘no’ and drivel about his whacked out morning (with a side of ‘who are you calling monster, you bastard; you know you love it’), Kai smiled anyway and got down on one knee to give the shy boy behind the blonde-haired man’s leg to give him a friendly grin. The boy regarded him hesitantly, hand buried in Reita’s shirttail in a white-knuckled grip.

Kai looked up at Reita briefly, “Wow, he looks like a mini carbon-copy of Uruha, doesn’t he?”

Reita groaned in frustration, “That’s because he _is_.”

The drummer scoffed with a roll of his eyes and returned a smile to the child. His voice was warm, “I’m Kai. What’s your name?”

The boy immediately looked up at Reita for confirmation that _yes-it’s-okay-Kai’s-not-a-creeper_ , and shyly met the brunet’s eyes, “Kouyou, sir.”

Kai didn’t comment on the similarity, merely smiling wider, “Ah, that’s a nice name Kouyou-kun! Well, how about we go inside then? It’s cold out here.”

Kouyou nodded and crept outside of the safety zone of Reita leg and followed Kai inside, holding onto the hem of Reita’s shirt all the while.

Going deeper into the cozy apartment, sidestepping management memos and other haphazard items that the drummer would be complaining of losing in probably three days’ time, Reita couldn’t stop his heart from beating so loud and his right eye twitching from stress. Kai snuck a glance behind him and raised a brow at Reita’s shifty behavior.

It’s not like he _stole_ this kid, right?

Trying to shake the disturbing thought from his head, he led the two into the kitchen, asking Kouyou amiably if he’d eaten yet. The small boy guiltily whispered, hand cupping his mouth so Reita wouldn’t hear, “The omelet wasn’t good. But don’t tell ‘kira. It’ll make him sad.”

But Reita did hear and harrumphed indignantly behind the two from the kitchen table. Kouyou didn’t appear to notice. Kai sent an amused glance at the bassist and returned to the honest, but sensitive youngster, “Well then how about I cook you something? I’m pretty good – promise.”

“Liar.” Reita whispered lowly. Kai ignored the jab and excitedly asked an equally jovial Kouyou whether he liked pancakes or waffles. Seeing that Kouyou was being left in capable hands, he wandered into the living room to put his head in his hands and think.

He didn’t know how long he sat there like that. Enough for the decadent scent of fluffy waffles to waft from the kitchen apparently. He lifted his head and was about to barge into the kitchen and demand his own plate when he heard laughter and the telltale lilt to Kouyou’s voice.

“ – Did you know ‘kira can _drive_? He’s really cool!”

His chest suddenly felt too small for his heart.

 

&

 

“So, what? Is he one of Uruha’s nephews or something?”

“I’m telling you, he’s Uruha.”

“But I’m Kouyou, ‘kira!”

The small protest brought a smile to Kai’s face as the three of them sat at the kitchen table, waffles stacked high and still smoking. “See? He knows who he is, Reita. This is a really bad, poorly crafted prank. I’m disappointed.”

Reita glared at Kai’s cheekiness and dug his hand into his jeans pocket, fingers finding the item he had hurriedly stuffed in there before he and Kouyou had dashed from the apartment. Gingerly unfolding the item, he nearly threw it at Kai.

“ _I_ know who he is.”

Kai regarded the piece of paper, noting it was a Polaroid. A quick snapshot of a much younger Reita – small and tanned with a large grin – slinging an arm around another boy, both covered in grass stains and standing beside a soccer ball. Kai wrinkled his brow at the second boy in the photograph. It was the same exact boy who was now gleefully eating waffles at his kitchen table.

But Kai wasn’t one to be easily swayed, “You edited this…”

Reita gave a bark of disbelieving laughter, “Jeez, Kai! Think for a second. It’s obviously an original. You can’t copy, let alone edit, a damn Polaroid.”

Slowly, Kai looked up from the picture to the child sitting next to him, playfully making shapes out of his waffles. “That’s totally impossible.”

“Believe me, I’ve been telling myself that all morning.”

Kai’s cell phone rattled loudly on the table as it suddenly vibrated – not allowing Kai a moment to even digest this bizarre situation and making him jump.  Robotically reaching for it, eyes still wide with shock at how their lead guitarist was contentedly eating breakfast in the form of a seven-year-old, Kai flipped open the screen.

A headache instantly sprouted as he read Aoi’s text.  
 _  
‘Little problem.’_  



	3. Floral shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoi slowly pointed at Kouyou’s innocent visage, voice low and a bit hoarse, “Please tell me you stole this kid.”
> 
> Kai countered, “Please tell me Ruki’s twenty-seven.”

Reita was pretty sure Kai was having an embolism.  He had been staring at the screen of his cell phone, and periodically ripping his eyes away to stare instead at Kouyou (who had almost finished his waffles by now), for a good four minutes.  The bassist finally huffed, reaching over to violently pluck the device from Kai’s grip.  He glanced at the message, felt a trickle of dread settle into his stomach (because ‘problems’ were anything but normal hiccups by now), before he was sidetracked by the drummer abruptly clamoring out of his seat.

 

“Uruha!  Fuck; okay don’t worry.  We’re going to get you back to normal, okay?”

“Kai – ”  
  
“Did you eat anything weird – Reita don’t you _dare_ say anything about my cooking – or drink something that was spiked?”

“…Kai – ”

Kai was grasping a startled Kouyou’s shoulders at this point, “Were there any creepy, voo-doo-y people you talked to at the bar last night?  _Uruha_ , we’ve been over this!  You’re not supposed to talk to anyone who looks any more eccentric than Ruki!”

“—Kai!”

“And _you!_ ”  Kai suddenly turned to glare at the bassist, “What the hell were you doing when this was happening!?”

Reita gaped, previous frustrations over Kai’s incessant questioning and obliviousness traded in for defensive anger, “ _Me?_   I was the one who dragged his ass home after he passed out, you dumbass!”

The blonde-haired man flitted his eyes to Kouyou for a split second, still encased in Kai’s grip.  Seeing the distressed expression slowly creeping into the boy’s jovial features made him take a breath and calmly try to diffuse Kai’s hysteria, “Look.  We stepped out of the bar, talked for a bit, and then he passed out.  I wake up in the morning by the scream of death and find him like this.”

Kouyou furrowed his brow at his friend’s words, absently squirming in the brunet’s grip.  He watched the frown on Akira’s face and tilted his head with concern, “Did he faint like you did when you saw my stitches that one time, ‘kira?  Is he okay?”

Reita and Kai paused.  Kai loosened his grip, but turned the boy gently so he could look him in those innocent, doe eyes.  He made sure his voice was soft, taking Reita’s queue, and spoke with a semblance of shaky calm, “Uruha – ”

Kouyou timidly cut in, “Why do you keep calling me that?”  He bit his lip and averted his eyes from Kai’s, “’kira called me that earlier, too.”

Kai looked taken aback, knuckles fading back to a normal flesh color as he let his hands merely rest on Kouyou’s shoulders.  “What?”

“He doesn’t remember, Kai.  He’s not ‘Uruha’.  He’s just Kouyou.”

Seeing the bemused look of forehead wrinkles and twitching eyebrow on Kai’s face, Kouyou’s eyes widened and he quickly patted his shoulder in assurance, thinking he had somehow offended the man, “But it’s a nice name, honest!  It’s pretty.”

Kai couldn’t help but think of how _small_ that hand was as it rested on his shoulder – and how it belonged to the same man whose fingers have wrapped around the neck of a heavy-weight, monstrous guitar and made it _scream_.  He looked to Reita helplessly for a moment, unsure of what to even make of the situation that was increasingly become warped and twisted at his kitchen table.  All he wanted was a day to recuperate from the bottle of red wine he had consumed last night; maybe get a load of laundry done and finally get around to buying some groceries for his anorexic fridge.  But no, of course not – he really should have known better that a simple Tuesday was not to be if his crazed band had anything to say about it.

Reita caught Kai’s blatant expression of panic and subsequently tried to catch Kouyou’s attention, lest the well-meaning youngster thought his comfort to the brunet was being ill-received, “Yeah, it’s definitely… pretty.  Isn’t it pretty, Kai-san?”

The drummer blinked, brain beginning to numb as it tried to process the nonsensical situation, “What?”

Reita set a hand on Kouyou’s shoulder, the boy looking up at him with curious eyes when he felt those lithe fingers.  “I said, isn’t Kouyou right that ‘Uruha’ is a pretty name.”

He could hardly remember to put shoes on in the morning in his haste and preoccupation with managing a team of band members who were miscreant dorks ninety-percent of the time when they weren’t being rock stars and glorified pieces of man-candy (along with macho-bandleader, Kai also had a black belt in ego-popping).  Thus, it was completely suitable to say that the abrupt switch in topics from _“by the way, here’s our lead guitarist who just happened to have shrunk overnight – enjoy”_ to _“gosh, isn’t the name Uruha just grand?_ ” made his already on-the-fritz sanity start to creak and crumble.

“Yes.  It’s fantastic.  Best name ever.”

Kouyou grinned wide and nodded, tugging on Reita sleeve behind him, “Kai-san likes it ‘kira, see?  Does that mean he likes me too if he calls me that?”

Reita was less enthusiastic by Kai’s response, eyeing the brunet warily as the aforementioned man made visible attempts to not completely decimate the kitchen in a typhoon of lunacy in the next two point five seconds.  His left eye twitched.  The blond laid a hand on Kouyou’s fingers clutching at his sleeve, unconsciously pulling him closer just in case Kai flipped over the kitchen table. 

He had seen Kai panic-stricken before.  It got dangerous.

Reita inadvertently ignored Kouyou’s innocent question, not noticing the bright gleam in the younger’s eyes slowly fade to an unsure haze, as he slowly questioned Kai, “Are you okay, man?  You look really white,” He flicked his gaze to the drummer’s hands that were gripping the edge of the table, “And crazy.”

Kai seemed to deflate at those words, head in his hands and elbows digging into his mahogany table.  His eyes were wide and brow troubled as he murmured, “I can’t even comprehend this.  It’s not like we can take him to a doctor.  I don’t even know what to…”

As if on cue, there was an urgent, brusque knock on the door.  Kai immediately stood, a look of strangled control taking over his visage, “Shit.”

It was either child protective services or Aoi.

He didn’t know what would be worse.

Reita followed at once with Kouyou hesitantly tagging along behind him.  His little brow was furrowed in abject confusion.  Everything had seemed fine when Kai placed the waffles in front of him.  They tasted really good, better than mom’s, and the dimpled man seemed so happy and fun.  Kouyou didn’t understand why Kai was so odd now, the brunet frowning and pacing and making Akira uncomfortable. 

He tried to grab onto Akira’s hand to reassure him – ask him why he was upset too – but was too slow as the man lifted his hands to Kai’s shoulders, murmuring something about balance and ‘just-let-me-answer-it-and-go-sit-down’.  Kouyou frowned, looking down at the floor.  He couldn’t think of anything he could have done to make them both upset.  He peered up from his dark bangs cautiously.  Was Akira mad about Kouyou saying he didn’t like his eggs?  And maybe Kai-san was upset he ate all his food…  Kouyou jerked his head up in terror, eyes wide and biting his lip – maybe Kai-san had no food left because Kouyou ate it all! 

“Kai, seriously, go sit down.  You’re going to pass out.”

“Reita, let go of me.  Whatever problem Aoi has, it can’t be as bad as this, right?  I mean, this is worst case scenario.  Right here.  I _dare_ Aoi to make this any worse than it is.”

The bassist groaned as he realized there was no way of making Kai, who had tightened his jaw in determination, sit down and stay put.  He retreated, turning around to join Kouyou only to find that the young boy watching him guiltily, a wet sheen glimmering in his caramel irises. 

Before Reita could ask what was wrong and promise him that whatever it was, it was okay – Kai opened the door.

_Mother of god._

He hated Tuesdays.  Period.

Aoi took in the gleam of stressed-out insanity in Kai’s eyes and hesitated, “So..  We have a situation.”

The guitarist was looking a little disheveled:  floral shirt thrown on haphazardly, hair in disarray and – was that glitter on his shoes?   But it was nothing compared to the sight next to him.  Kai choked, eyes widening and fingers tightening on the doorknob.  Disbelieving, chocolate eyes stared back at him.  Kai sounded breathless, “R-Ruki-kun?” 

He quickly turned to Aoi, feeling lightheaded, “Are you kidding me?”

The elder silently shook his head, feeling the vocalist of seven-years-past uncomfortably shift from foot to foot next to him.  He was almost half-hidden behind the taller man, peering out beneath his blond-streaked bang and watching how _this_ Kai gaped and sputtered.  He glanced at his arms, distracted by how the muscles rippled and flexed as the drummer squeezed the knob intermittingly.  Ruki felt something constrict in his chest as he realized they were arms of someone who pounded with all their heart for years – of wing-clipped dreams becoming reality.      

Kai let go of the doorknob and sighed heavily, running a hand through his short locks, “Fuck, _fuck_.”

The brunet stiffly walked back into the house past Reita and Kouyou, who had retreated into the living room, to collapse into the couch.  Still outside on the welcome mat, Ruki eyed Aoi with concern as he bit his lip, “This is fucking weird.”

Aoi started to make his way into the apartment, shucking off his shoes (and the evidence of his battle with the glitter-mat) and rolling his eyes as he watched the slighter frame of Ruki nervously shuffle after him, “You’re one to talk.”

Ruki couldn’t retort and he couldn’t do much of anything but follow Aoi, eyes trained on the elder’s back, and think.  When the door had opened and the slightly panicked but mostly calm countenance of Kai had poked his head through, the twenty-year-old nearly gasped aloud.  It was just so… _different_.  And suddenly it wasn’t just Aoi who had changed, _grew up_.    

Kai had always possessed a kindred spirit, a warm presence and a dimpled smile.  But his last vivid memory of the man was one of spitfire – two furious tempers colliding backstage after a less than stellar concert where they had been a beat behind the entire time.  It was one where Aoi pushed Kai up against a wall, knocking his head into the hard plaster and Kai pushing back with a snarl, punching the elder in the lip.  Ruki could remember the blood from Aoi’s piercing, the strong hands of Reita and Uruha holding the two back as they growled and snapped…

Kai and Ruki hadn’t had a chance yet to get closer – and after that incident which occurred a week ago in Ruki’s time – the vocalist was slightly apprehensive of brushing against a person who’s very entity could change so rapidly and completely. 

Aoi started to make his way into the apartment and Ruki slowly followed, cautious and feeling so far out of the loop between the two of them.  He didn’t know them anymore.

It seemed that Kai was slowly coming back to his senses whilst on the couch, realizing that the situation was even more dire than he once thought.  They all obviously needed a leader to call the shots and make waffles for everybody.  Kouyou was beside him, softly whispering, “Do you feel better Kai-san?  I’m sorry I ate all your food.”

Reita was kneeling beside him as well, silently relieved that he didn’t have to take up the role of rationality, and glanced behind him at Aoi who was looking upon the scene with confusion.

He snorted, “So what’s the problem?  Someone hack into your twitter and start posting gay porn?”

Aoi immediately colored, sputtering.  Was he that glaringly obvious?  He _knew_ he shouldn’t have worn this damn shirt – couldn’t a guy wear paisley and not have it be automatically assumed that he had frolicked in a field of daisies to get it?  He must have been the most manly-looking man in this band!  Kai was too busy baking cakes, Ruki was too fascinated by outlandish glitter, Uruha was too feminine for his own good and Reita was obviously overcompensating.  So, it shouldn’t matter that he happened to adore floral shirts.  They were divine in his opinion.

“It’s just a fucking shirt!”

“What’s a ‘twitter’?”

Reita pointedly ignored Aoi’s breathless exclamation to hone in on the short figure nesting by the guitarist’s side.  Something seemed off.  “What the hell, Ruki?  You _have_ one.  And what is up with your hair?  You know that blond streak annoyed the crap out of me back then.”

Ruki, despite his awe in how _this_ Reita no longer looked like the scruffy kid who was almost too slight to sling around a bass and rather like the man he always bragged that he ‘was’, bit back sharply, “You’re _still_ wearing that stupid thing?  You’d think you would have suffocated by now.” 

The bassist looked taken aback, Kai appeared slightly amused and Kouyou stared up curiously at Aoi who had spotted the child on the couch and was gazing back at him in mounting horror.  Reita growled lowly, “At least I didn’t lose a foot in height overnight, fucking midget.”

Rather than seeing absolute crimson and proceeding to rip Reita’s head off with just his two pinky fingers, Ruki’s anger vanished to be replaced by a gleaming sort of hope, head tilting to the side, “I’m taller now?”

Reita stared at Ruki in abrupt confusion before he swiveled his gaze over to Aoi and asked casually, “You didn’t feed him paint chips on your way over here, did you?  And what the fuck is on your pants?  Lose a fight with a fairy?”

Aoi wasn’t paying attention to Reita’s drivel.  He slowly pointed at Kouyou’s innocent visage, voice low and a bit hoarse, “ _Please_ tell me you stole this kid.”

Kai countered, “ _Please_ tell me Ruki’s twenty-seven.”

A silence pervaded the room, tension growing as Aoi and Kai stared at each other with realization glinting in their eyes.  When neither reassured the other, Kai started to sink low into the cushions while Aoi bit his lip and stared at Kouyou in askance.  Meanwhile, Reita observed the scene with a risen eyebrow, eyeing drummer and guitarist back and forth before finally settling on Ruki. 

Come to think of it, the man did look a little more…youthful.  But Kai’s apartment did have awesome lighting so even Aoi’s faint laugh lines were sufficiently smoothed away.  And explaining the hair was simple – Ruki always changed, he practically _was_ change, and who’s to say he didn’t go to the beauty salon at seven o’clock in the morning?  It wouldn’t have been the first time…

But Ruki was looking at him now, staring right back at him with those sepia irises that were harboring some tendril of _before_ – and Reita knew this wasn’t a simple matter of the vocalist’s obsession with hair dye.  This was…

Reita promptly freaked out.

“Mother of fucking _god_ , what the hell is going on here!?”

The bassist ripped himself out of his seat and began to burn a path into Kai’s carpet at the rate of his pacing.  Eyes wide, nostrils flared, Reita proceeded to exclaim profanities whilst the others (including virgin-ear Kouyou) looked on, “ _What the ever-living fuck!?_   Now what are we supposed to do?  This is ridiculous – I don’t – I can’t even – ”

Kai felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to find a bewildered Kouyou whispering to him with concern, “Kai-san, ‘kira is turning blue.”

The drummer smiled weakly at the child, patting his head absently and tried to placate the hyperventilating man (and save his carpet from further turmoil), “Reita, you need to calm – ”

Reita whipped his head violently towards Kai’s pale visage, eyebrows furrowing deeper as he brought up his hands to tug on his roots in frustration, “ _Don’t_ tell me to be calm!  How can _you_ be calm!?  Our band – our _friends_ –  are being reduced to pint-size status!”

Kai could feel Kouyou shrink back the slightest bit next to him.  He placed a hand on the younger’s head in assurance, “You kept your cool when you found out about Uruha.  Freaking out now isn’t going to solve anything.” 

“B-But – _we could be next!_ ”

Ruki stared openly as Reita continued to rant and rave, “Is he always like this?”

Aoi, too exhausted between discovering Ruki’s ‘little situation’ to making sure he was still locked tight in that metaphorical closet to waking up before noon, merely sighed with an air of abandon, “I guess none of us are feeling like ourselves today.”

Ruki hummed lowly, wide eyes jumping from a frantic bassist to an exasperated Aoi-san to a bewildered child and finally to a tentatively calm Kai.  He was still stuck to the raven-haired guitarist’s side, finding a gossamer solace in the elder’s presence.  Aoi had always been a sort of homeless haven, offering what he could despite his penchant for baring his jowls from time to time.  But _this_ Aoi, despite his tense shoulders and fidgeting hands, was something lighter.  Ruki couldn’t help but to stay near him, inching away from the calamity of Reita’s pacing and cursing.

He was already frazzled – waking up in a strange apartment, realizing he was in a different era, beginning to notice that even the people he considered family were suddenly so _different_.  They weren’t the same.  Aoi was mumbling something or other to Reita ( _“—And I **don’t** have gay porn on my twitter.  That only happened **once** and I’m pretty sure I know who posted it…”_ ), but Ruki let his gaze linger on the drummer for a moment too long, biting his lip in thought. 

Even if Aoi and Reita were older now, they still held some facet of themselves from ‘before’.  Reita was still wearing that stupid band and still letting each emotion flare up in his chest and explode.  Aoi was still modestly quiet and still wearing less-than-desirable articles of clothing (he inwardly winced at the memory of first seeing that pastel pink, floral shirt).  Even Uruha, though the taller man was obviously running late as usual, probably still smiled those huge, goofy grins and still worshipped his video game stash with unhealthy devotion.  But Kai…  He didn’t know Kai at all. 

The man in question seemed to notice Ruki’s heated stare and swiveled his head towards him.  A cautious smile blossomed on the elder’s face as he asked gently, “Why are you looking at me like that, Ruki-kun?”

The younger could feel his cheeks heat up minutely at being caught and thrown into the spotlight.  Irritated by his own embarrassment, Ruki scowled before he blurted out without an ounce of filter, “Because the last time I saw you, you sucker-punched Aoi-san in the mouth.”

He heard an indignant and slightly strangled squawk rip from Aoi’s throat and Reita stopped his pacing to whip his head towards the guitarist in blatant remembrance.  Kai seemed to pause in bemusement, apparently not able to recall that bitter night backstage or the icepacks that followed, and was about to open his mouth to retort in the negative when Reita suddenly guffawed.

“Oh _man!_   I remember that!  Dude, you totally crumbled.”

Aoi grit his teeth, jaw tightening, and Ruki almost thought he would see a piece of the old-Aoi flicker back to life – a gnashing, spitfire piece – but was surprised when the elder only growled out, “It was a lucky shot.”

Kai’s brow was still furrowed in thought, but Reita seemed to remember the incident quite clearly with a huff of amusement, “That’s bullshit.  You were _wide_ open.”

“Wait, when was this – ”

Ignoring the question posed by the person ultimately responsible for Aoi’s wounded pride and lip that fateful day, the elder crossed his arms and snorted, “Whatever.”

Reita snickered, seeming to calm down from his nail-biting worry with the distraction of memory, “Who thought it’d be our sweet, cheesecake-baking Kai-kun to put you in your place.  You really used to be a hellcat back then.”

Aoi sighed, wanting to rather not relive his stubborn, fury-slathered days nor the punch that finally opened his eyes to his horrid behavior.  Ruki watched the exchange with something akin to awe. 

And so was Kouyou, who pointedly poked Kai on the arm and chastised softly, “Fighting’s bad.”

With those whispered words, the whole room seemed to remember the precise reason why they were gathered in Kai’s apartment at an absurdly early hour in the morning – along with Aoi realizing he hadn’t had his daily fix of caffeine.

   
&&&

  
“Okay, so here’s our situation.  Uruha’s seven.  Ruki’s twenty.  We’re still old.  What the fuck.”

After practically raping the innocence out of Kai’s coffee machine, the group had gathered in a poor attempt at a circle in the living room.  Kouyou was nestled against Reita’s side, fidgeting with his hands and not sure what was going on and why he was still being called “Uruha” – he peeked at the man across from him.  He was pretty sure his name had something to do with flowers (he sure liked them a lot, Kouyou figured, eyeing the salmon shirt in curiosity).  He wasn’t sure why, but something about the slightly out-of-sorts, raven-haired man made him want to giggle and tug on Akira’s sleeve and whisper, _“He’s funny, isn’t he ‘kira?”_  

Aoi, unaware of Kouyou’s gleeful assessment, was currently nursing a hot mug of coffee like it was his last connection to reality – which probably wasn’t too much of an exaggeration at this point – and tapping his fingers restlessly against the ceramic.  He snorted at Reita’s quick evaluation, sneaking a glance at Ruki who had huddled in the corner of the couch next to him in silence, “Duly noted, thanks.”

Kai furrowed his brow, putting a thumb to his lip in thought, “There has to be a logical explanation…”

Aoi shot the drummer a withering look, “I’m pretty sure logic has become extinct.”

Scowling at the elder’s abrasive tone, Kai shook his head, “Well there has to be a reason for this – people don’t just lose a decade or two of their life over night.”

Ruki curled himself deeper into the corner of the couch, averting his eyes to stare at the cream-colored carpet.  It was unsettling – the whole thing made his heart stutter and nerves fray.  Ever since Aoi had whispered that it was _2010_ , Ruki knew things would be different.  How could things not change in seven years’ time? 

But still, seeing Kai’s muscled arms ( _from dedicating each part of himself to that dream_ ), the confident set to Reita’s shoulders ( _from years of never giving up_ ) and Aoi’s laugh lines ( _from finally finding his smile_ ) – he couldn’t help but feel a dull ache throb in his chest from _missing_ it all.  But then again, he _was_ there.  Just… not this “him”.    

Ruki forced down the irritated growl of mounting frustration. 

Aoi, however, seemed to hear the almost inaudible quiver in his throat.  The vocalist could feel the elder shift faintly, and imagined the concerned dip in his brow as the guitarist quietly regarded him.  Ruki glared at the carpet, shoulders hunching over the slightest bit in an attempt to tear Aoi’s chocolate eyes off of him – effectively channeling an irritated feline. 

Before Aoi could lowly whisper _are-you-okay?_ and _you’re-kinda-crushing-Kai’s-prized-pillows_ , Reita was spouting off perfectly reasonable explanations, “Black holes?  Bermuda triangle?  Aliens?”

“Reita, be serious please.”

“Fine.  _Extraterrestrials?_ ”

Aoi held back a snort, the black look on Kai’s face clearly indicating the drummer was Not Amused.

Not even deeming Reita’s sass a response, Kai let out a suffering sigh and turned to the remaining adult guitarist, “You were the one who took Ruki home last night, right?  Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

_Oh, fuck._

“Um…”

Aoi couldn’t stop the red from seeping into his cheeks or the tightening in his chest.  It was just an innocent question right?  It’s not like Kai _knew_ or anything.  But even so, he had always been a shit-liar and it’s not like he could casually say: “oh, well I totally tried to snog him at his door last night, but nope – didn’t see any _extraterrestrials_ ”.  All eyes had snapped towards him and were waiting, including Ruki – intrigued in what transpired between his older self and the guitarist – who was gazing at him with an unreadable look.  It was almost shy, almost hopeful.

“You took me home?”

 _Fuck, fuck._  

“Um, yeah.  You were – he was drunk so I took him, uh… home.”

Everyone stared.

“…and then went out and kissed a girl.”

Kai raised a brow, not comprehending what the significance was of where Aoi’s tongue had been, while Kouyou gasped, “Really?  Was she pretty, Flower-san?”

He definitely needed to get rid of this shirt.  Right after he threw away his glitter-spattered shoes.  “Yeah, she was…”  Aoi bit his lip and tried not to twitch or glance at the man beside him, “…nice.”

Too preoccupied having a minor stroke as he tried to lock his closet even tighter, Aoi missed the flicker of disappointment in Ruki’s downcast eyes.

Kouyou was riveted, leaning in with wide eyes as he innocently asked, “Was she as pretty as ‘kira?”

The rest of the room wasn’t sure whether Reita’s face had turned a nearly perfect shade of magenta from the comment itself or due to the fact that the precarious sip of coffee had turned treacherous.  Spluttering, not able to dismiss the notion that he was “pretty” fast enough, the bassist wheezed through pounding at his chest, “Not…”  wheeze, cough, gasp, “… _pretty!_ ”

Even Ruki, who had taken to brooding quite heavily in the corner of the couch, was smirking in amusement as Reita continued to choke and deny while Kouyou began to fuss with concern.

He tugged on Reita’s sleeve with the kind of insistence only a child could exude, “But you _are_ , ‘kira!  I promise!”

“You _are_ looking positively divine today, Rei-chan.”  Ruki grinned toothily at him.

Torn between the warm, tingly feeling in his chest and the blatant refusal to be called “pretty” in front of his snickering bandmates, Reita viciously shook his head.  With one last hack, the bassist placed a hand over Kouyou’s tiny fist which was nearly glued to his sleeve, “I’m _not_ _pretty_ , Kouyou.  Men aren’t pretty.”

Oblivious to the stares and huffs of amusement, Kouyou furrowed his brow and regarded Reita with wide eyes, “Even if it’s true?”

The blush was spreading from his cheeks to the back of his neck and the tips of ears, “It’s _not_ true, Kou.  Stop saying weird things.”

Kai bit his lip, watching the child start to curl into himself with rejection.  He could understand Reita’s insecurity with being called that frilly word – he was silently thanking his luck that Kouyou didn’t deem him beautiful or flower-like – but as he saw Kouyou nibble at his own lip, the drummer frowned at the blonde-haired man.  “Reita, don’t be – ”

“Okay…”  Kouyou released the tight hold on Reita’s sleeve.  His eyes were slightly glassy, the apartment’s lighting making the irises seem to glint and waver.  He didn’t understand why Akira was so upset, why his arm had jerked from his touch, why his voice was suddenly so rough. 

Fidgeting with his hands in his lap, Kouyou tried to stop biting his lip, but couldn’t ignore the anxiety in his stomach.  He hadn’t wanted Akira to be mad – he only wanted to reassure his now-adult friend that he was perfect ( _still perfect_ ).  Kouyou ducked his head and clasped his fingers tight.  He remembered when Renji had made fun of Reita’s button nose after the elder threw a punch at the boy for teasing Kouyou.  He didn’t think Akira had minded – the elder only jamming his knuckles into Renji’s teeth one more time before swinging an arm around Kouyou’s shoulders and leading him away – but as the child eyed the ostentatious noseband, doubt started to trickle into his heart.

Despite the tense atmosphere that decided to pervade the room with Kouyou’s soft acquiesce, Aoi was melting with utter relief at the diversion.  The situation was already awkward enough – a ‘coming-out’ / ‘crushing-on-Ruki’ hoopla didn’t need to add to anymore strain to the band’s already fragile sanity.  The raven-haired guitarist could feel a steady pulse ramming against the inside of his temples.  The coffee wasn’t working. 

With a resounding clap of his hands, Kai suddenly broke the uneasy silence with a grim nod of his head, “Well, there’s one thing we can say for sure:  we can’t risk waiting this out and hoping everything will be back to normal by the time the first live rolls around.  We’re going to have to cancel tour dates until we get this mess resolved.”

“ _No!_ ” Ruki was suddenly sprung from the corner of the couch to his feet, hands clenched at his sides, “Don’t cancel anything!  It’s not that bad – I can totally learn the songs and it’s not like any of us are sick or out of commission – ”

Aoi coughed rather unsubtly and jerked his head towards the seven-year-old sitting next to a still-disgruntled Reita.

Ruki faltered, “W-Well… maybe we can rent a guitarist or something or..  Or Aoi-san can teach him!  Kids are sponges at this age, right?”

He knew he was being slightly irrational, but the vocalist couldn’t just sit idle and disappoint the fans.  If the gaudy, flamboyant apartment he woke up in was anything to go by, the band obviously gained popularity and to let down eager supporters of their music made his heart shrivel and sink. 

Kai smiled wanly, “You know that wouldn’t work.  And besides, you need to learn about us first.  We’re a little different now.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Ruki snuck a quick glance at Aoi and found himself silently agreeing almost instantly.

Another lull of silence pervaded the crowded living room, the oddly assorted occupants fidgeting here and there as the situation seemed to be getting bleaker by the minute.  Reita, arms crossed and frown marring his usually jovial face, asked softly, “What do we tell management?  The _fans_?” 

Kai let out a long breath, eyes shutting and hands automatically going up to massage his temples.  The throbbing roar in the back of his head was getting quite vicious.  “We’ll think of something.  If we’re lucky, the schedule will only be set back a few weeks,”  Kai opened his eyes to glance at Ruki and Kouyou, “Then again, our friends’ health and wellbeing comes first anyways.  Always.”

Murmurs of agreement and nods of approval went around the semi-circle. 

Aoi twiddled and fussed with the silver rings adorning his right hand, a nervous tic, Ruki noted with interest, that had stayed with the guitarist throughout the years.  Even if the elder had a cocky tilt to the lips and a mischievous gleam in his eye backstage at a live, once his fingers started to fuddle with the jewelry, the illusion of perfect aplomb was shattered.  Now, in the midst of a crisis hailing from the likes of a romantic-comedy blockbuster, Aoi twisted and pulled at those rings roughly.  Ruki almost swiftly reached out to put a hand atop the raven-haired man’s.  But he hesitated, hovered in indecision for too long.

“Aoi, you’re yanking on your fingers again.”

The rhythm guitarist immediately tore his fingers away from the abused rings, cheeks a faint pink.  Jostling his knee slightly with nerves, he said, “I can’t help but to think that maybe we should all stay close.  Just in case this keeps happening.”

Reita blanched while Kai nodded, “That’s a good plan.”

Kouyou, who had been playing with the fibers of the carpet, shot his head up with excited eyes and turned to the bassist, “Are we having a sleepover at Kai-san’s house?”

When Reita didn’t respond fast enough, Kouyou scooted closer to him and whispered persuasively, “I like Kai-san.  He makes good waffles.”

“Are we just basing this off of culinary skill?  Because I only have one guestroom.”

Having already given into the child’s pleading eyes, Reita shrugged, “We’ll draw straws.  Me and Kouyou against Aoi and Ruki.  Shortest gets the couch.” 

It took all of his self-control not to mutter in an aside:  _“So, I guess Ruki gets it automatically.”_

Aoi, a bit proud of his suggestion to stay close, suddenly began to pale, “W-Wait, me and Ruki?”

Reita gave him a deadpanned look while Kai prepared the straws, “Nothing against you man, but sleeping close to Uruha is already bordering pedophilic.  And now you’re telling me you _want_ to sleep next to a seven-year-old?”

Well, _that_ proposal totally went up in flames.  “No!  No, just…why can’t me and Kai share a room?”

Reita raised a brow and jutted his chin towards the smaller vocalist who was still curled up in his corner of the couch (and not missing the millisecond of hurt that crossed his eyes at Aoi’s avoidance), “And just leave Ruki, who doesn’t even know what _twitter_ is, all by himself?  Jeez.”

Aoi blamed his sputtering on the lack of sufficient coffee (Kai’s _Italia Roast_ brand was certainly not strong enough to jumpstart his common sense) and quickly tried to make amends, realizing his fate had been sealed the moment he answered his cell phone, “No, I…  I’ll stay with him.”

Reita looked remotely satisfied and Kai held out a bundle of straws to them, “Alright guys, take your pick.” 

The bassist drew first, drawing a moderately sized straw.  Aoi swallowed thickly, praying to any remaining god up there that he’d draw the guestroom.  At least with a room he and Ruki could be somewhat separated.  And therefore, somewhat not touching each other.  And Aoi somewhat not humiliating himself.

He drew his straw.

And the gods deemed him worthy.

“Guess this means we’re blowing up the air mattress, Kouyou,” Reita winced for his back’s future while Kouyou smiled at the idea of a mattress made out of air. 

“Will it be like clouds?” 

Aoi almost wept at his luck.  Kai clapped him on the back with a grin, “Looks like you two will be getting “reacquainted” tonight.”

Still reveling in his glory, Aoi turned a smile the drummer’s way, not fully comprehending his words, “What’s that?”

But Kai was already walking away towards the room, “Just make sure you only bring essential items in there.  Once that beast is pulled out, it literally takes up all the space in the room.”

His blood pressure was getting a real workout today.  Aoi started to walk briskly after Kai, barely noticing that Ruki decided to follow behind him as well, “Because… there’s two futons in there, right?”

Aoi reached the guestroom and stopped abruptly at the doorway.  The room was bare. 

Except for the lone pull-out futon.

Ruki snorted beside him, crossing his arms, “Hope you don’t bruise too easily, Aoi-san.  I don’t know if you remember, but I kick in my sleep.”

If Aoi didn’t know Kai any better, he’d say the drummer had looked about ready to cackle.


End file.
